


In the darkest night, a song so sweet

by ValofWinterfell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon - Book, Canon Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValofWinterfell/pseuds/ValofWinterfell
Summary: The Lord Commander stood atop the Wall and watched as the girl in grey came riding north, her army at her back.--Part of the Jonsa Gift Exchange.





	In the darkest night, a song so sweet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FedonCiadale](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FedonCiadale/gifts).



> For FedonCiadale, whose blog I stalked way too much before writing this. I love all your theories!

The Lord Commander stood atop the Wall and watched as the girl in grey came riding north, her army at her back.

They were nothing but small specks the size of ants moving slowly through the snow-covered landscape, grey against white. He could not distinguish one figure from the next, and yet the rider at the front drew his eye like a torch in the darkest night.

She was cloaked in a grey that seemed to glitter in the soft light of the sun, much like the armour of the men riding behind her. In the dying light of the day she had seemed like a dream – but a dream far different from any he had dreamt in years.

\----

_I am the sword in the darkness –_

When the daggers in the dark had claimed his life, they had claimed every other piece of him as well. He died, and in death he dreamt of the Walkers, their blue eyes watching him, coming for him. He rose, and all that remained was the thought of the dead. They were coming. Corpses shambling through the woods, pale riders on their rotting horses, _dead things in the water._

And so he had turned north. And waited.

He had rarely left his position atop the Wall since. There was nothing for him down below, only cravens and petty squabbles.

And fear. He saw it in their eyes as they watched him, heard it in their voices as the addressed him. They were all terrified of him. They had seen him die, and they had seen him rise again from his funeral pyre, and ever since they had been eager to do his bidding without giving him any reason to turn on them in anger. It suited him fine.

In their fear of him, at least, the black brothers and the free folk were united at last. Before he died he might have laughed at the irony of that, but the Lord Commander no longer cared.

They took turns bringing him food. Two times a day the winch cage would start creaking, and a black brother, or a man of the free folk, would approach him with a bowl of stew that had grown icy cold on the way up, and a stale heel of bread. He hardly touched it.

His world had lost colour. The days were short and pale, the nights long and dark, as if a black cloak had been draped across the world.

All that mattered were the dead, and yet he did not remember why it was of importance. The realm of the living held no comfort for him now, nor did the embrace of death. There was only the waiting. 

 _I am the watcher on the walls_ -

And then one day something had compelled him to turn south instead of north, and he knew his waiting was over. She was coming.

\---

The winch cage groaned and rattled all the way down, and the Lord Commander kept his eyes on the girl as she got ever closer.

One of the brothers in black had come to summon him to the courtyard to await the approaching riders. The man seemed to shake as much as the cage itself as he stood next to him, but the Lord Commander paid him no mind. There was nothing recognizable about the man, though the Lord Commander supposed that he had known his name once. _I knew all their names once_. But that no longer mattered.  

This one must have lost a bet or drawn the shortest straw, and been sent to summon him. No matter how much they feared him, they always turned to him for council, always sent someone to tell him what was happening down below. They feared his wrath more than anything.

The courtyard was bustling with life, men and animals both running around, but it all fell quiet when the Lord Commander stepped out of the winch cage. He walked to the front of the crowd, and as he walked, men scrambled to get out of his way, so that he had a clear path to the gates. There he stopped. And waited.

_She is coming._

When he heard the sounds of the party of riders approaching on the other side, the Lord Commander caught the eye of one of the men of the Night’s Watch standing on the tower above the gate, and gave him a sharp nod. The man hastened to obey, and soon the old hinges where creaking loudly as the gate opened.

She rode in on a horse that looked ready to collapse from exhaustion, and yet she herself seemed to shine with life. He was vaguely aware of the riders that followed behind her (some in furs, some in armour, all poised to protect their Lady), but he only had eyes for her.

She sat the horse like a queen, or else the Maiden come to life. The Lord Commander had never given much heed to the Southron Gods, even less so since he died, but looking at her now was almost enough to make him believe. She sat straight-backed and graceful, her cloak draped around her and a thick grey fur across her shoulders. Her hood was up, so he could not see her hair, but as her head turned towards him and eyes of the deepest blue fell upon him, he new that his dying dreams had been wrong. It was not White Walkers that had visited him in death, not their eyes that he had seen, but her. Only her.

Her cheeks had flushed pink from the cold, and a light sprinkling of snow had settled on the fur she wore. Her mouth had formed a soft _oh_ when her eyes met his, and he could see the recognition and the relief flutter across her features as she stared at him.

Slowly, gracefully, always keeping her eyes locked to his, she climbed off the her horse and stopped in front of him.

The Lord Commander watched, enraptured, as the girl lowered her hood, and his world burst into colour again.

 _I am the fire that burns against the cold_ –

Her long red hair was flowing down her back, the colour of the flames that had brought him back from death (but not back to life, not before now).

 _I have been waiting for you_ , his heart was singing, though he had not known it until this moment.

She was the third one to fulfil the red woman’s prophecy. The third girl to flee north, seeking his protection. _The wrong girl_ , he had thought twice before, but this time nothing could be further from the truth.   

Two girls had come before, but neither had been the sister he had been promised. He had offered them both his protection nonetheless. One he had seen married ( _let him be scared of me)_ , the other he had clothed and fed and sent to Long Barrow with the spear wives ( _help me, please_ ).

But the girl who stood in front of him now – auburn hair and pale skin and eyes he could drown in – there was nothing _wrong_ about her.

 _She is not the sister I died for,_ he knew. And yet he would have. A thousands times over, he would have died for her.

 _Sansa_.  

She was radiant.

The cloak that he had seen billowing behind her as she rode looked as enchanting on her now as it had from atop the wall. It was a pure white, but lined with a soft grey fur. Grey beads and threads of silver formed roses and ice crystals along the edges, sparkling in the soft light of day, and he knew with a certainty that if she turned around, he would see a grey dire wolf embroidered on the back.

A maidens cloak.

 _Fleeing from a marriage_ , the red woman had said, and he was suddenly filled with a rage he had no longer knew he was capable of. The thought of some man, his face a shadow, removing her cloak and draping her in other colours played before his eyes. The need to hold her, to protect her, to give his life for her was overpowering.

_I will protect you, I promise._

She must have seen it on his face, because a moment later she had let out a shuddering sob and leapt into his arms.

“Jon,” she whispered. Her cold cheek pressed against his neck, and he shuddered, though the cold had not bothered him since he died.  

He clutched her as close as he could, buried his nose in her fiery hair, and pressed his lips against her ear.

“Sansa, Sansa, Sansa.” He mumbled her name, over and over again, as if it was a prayer and the girl in his arms was the answer.

He could feel her draw back slightly. Opening his eyes, he saw that she wore a look of pure reverence, and her deep blue eyes had filled with tears.

“Oh Jon. How sweet to see you.”

She smiled at him, and it was brighter than the summer sun.

_The light that brings the dawn –_

_\---_

Jon had not been able to stray from her side since she arrived, and by the way she had been gripping his hand the whole time, she had not wanted him to leave her either.

He had brought her inside, but only after she insisted that he had fires and food prepared for her men first. It had only taken a look from him to get the brothers of the Night’s Watch to obey. They had all been staring at her as well, transfixed by her beauty and grace, but the look from their Lord Commander had sent them scrambling to help their guests.

As the men dismounted their exhausted horses, Sansa told him of them. Knights of the Vale who had helped her escape on her wedding day, clad in armour not made for the cold. Manderly men from White Harbour with mermen clasps on their cloaks who had pledged her their loyalty, their swords, and their ships to take her up the White Knife. Clansmen and other Northmen with thick furs and thicker beards who had seen her cloak as she rode for the Wall and sworn to protect the daughter of Eddard Stark.

Jon was grateful to them, but he had no wish to leave her side to tell them so. That could wait.

He finally managed to get her in from the cold when she was certain that all the men had been seen to. He had a fire lit and a hot bath drawn for her. He helped her unclasp her heavy cloak, and only turned away for a moment as she let her grey dress drop to the floor and he heard her sink into the hot water. Then he was by her side again, gripping her hand as she looked at him with deep blue eyes and told him of her journey.

“Oh Jon, I was so frightened, but I told myself I must be brave like Robb,” she had said, and; “He never intended for me to marry Harry at all, he only wanted me for himself.” His blood had boiled at that, and he had felt a sweet relief when she assured him that the man was dead.

“The Manderlys were so kind to me, and Robett Glover, he told me the sweetest thing. He said Bran and Rickon are alive, and the Stannis’ Hand has been sent to find Rickon. Can you believe it?” her eyes had brimmed with tears at that, and so he had brought a hand up to wipe them away. She had had closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, and his heart had swelled.

“And Jon,” she had whispered then, “I heard the most awful tales about what had happened to you, and I was so scared that you would not be here when I arrived.”

The tears had slipped from her eyes then. He could do nothing more than lean in a press a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m here. Everything will be alright, Sansa. I’m here.”

Later, when she had risen from the bath and he had draped a warm black cloak around her shoulders, she sang for him by the fire. She sang sweet songs, and sad ones, and ones full of hope. She sang of Jonquil and her fool, songs he remember from long ago, and ones that woke a hunger in him.

_The horn that wakes the sleepers –_

This – the sound of her – was all that mattered in his world. This was what he had been brought back to fight for. This sweetness, this innocence, this beauty.

They stayed awake long into the night, drawing warmth from the fire and each other. They traded stories of times passed, and the more they talked, the more he remembered. They talked of Father, of Robb, and of Arya, of feasts in the Great Hall and of _home_. He could feel the memories coming back to him, pieces of him that he thought he had lost forever. He clung to every word from her lips.

All too soon, he saw her yawn and rub at her eyes. Reluctantly, he made to leave the chambers so she could get some rest, but when he stood she only gripped his hand tighter.

 

“Please Jon. Stay with me.”

_The shield that guards the realms of men -_

And so he had. They curled up under the furs together, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. He would not let go.

_I pledge my life and honour to –_

_to –_

In the light of the dying fire, his eyes caught Sansa’s again. The deepest blue.

There was only her.  

For this night, and all the nights to come.

 


End file.
